


Lift You Up Over Everything

by kerithwyn



Series: Trope Bingo [5]
Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, Day At The Beach, F/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One missed date for Lincoln Lee is the setup for the rest of his life.</p><p>Chapter 5: New! Entry for trope_bingo: day at the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lift You Up Over Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Picks up post-"Wallflower," immediately goes AU.
> 
> Thanks to monanotlisa for first-read comments and a much-needed kick in the ending, and samjohnsson for beta.

At 3:15 a.m., time seems to slow to a crawl.

Lincoln tries not to look toward the window every ten seconds but finds himself failing miserably. It's clear that Olivia's not coming; she's nothing if not prompt.

The waitress's "Refresh that for you, hon?" has started to sound pitying and that's his cue to get out of here before he's further humiliated. Except--

Odds are, he's got no reason to be. Lincoln remembers the line of pain that creased Olivia's forehead with an impending migraine during the case, and he _knows_ she would have called if she could. Lincoln's only had one migraine in his life, when he was in college and down sick with some kind of horrible 48-hour bug, and during that time he hadn't been able to do anything but lie in a dark room and sob with the pain.

So if that's why Olivia hasn't showed, the last thing she probably wants is a knock on her door at--Lincoln checks his watch--3:24 a.m. in the morning. Given all the coffee he's drunk, there's no way he's getting much sleep tonight, but he can worry about her in his crappy hotel just as well as here.

But as soon as he gets in the car, for no reason he can think of, he drives over to the house Peter's staying in.

Well, there might be reason. The thing with the glasses--he's still trying to parse that. They were his prescription, which meant Peter had hacked some database somewhere. A lot of effort to...what? It was just such a—Lincoln smiles to himself as the word occurs— _queer_ gesture, both in the sense of "odd" and the other. Robert, as close as they'd been, would never have had such a thought. Julie would never have presumed either, for that matter, even though she'd bought him work shirts when she did the shopping for Robert. If that had been Peter's version of flirting, it wasn't any kind Lincoln was accustomed to, thoughtful and intimate at the same time.

Or maybe it'd been Peter's weird way of playing matchmaker, distancing himself from an Olivia who wasn't _his_ by trying to set Lincoln up with her? Had he been tacitly giving Lincoln his blessing? Peter had obviously picked up on Lincoln's interest in her, but even so...it was a strange gesture, on so many levels.

And yet, he's wearing the new glasses tonight.

The living room light of the house is still on when he drives up. Lincoln parks and walks over to the "unobtrusive" black sedan in front to check in with the agent on guard. The guy reports that all's quiet, but that every time he looks in Peter's still sitting in a chair, staring at drawings.

And, well. He's _here._ Lincoln takes his own quick look in the window, and then knocks. The door opens and he shrugs. "I figured if you're still up and I'm still up, we might as well...."

"Be up together?" Peter suggests, and waves him in.

The boards are covered with even more pages than before, schematics and formulas and esoteric diagrams. "Having any luck with this stuff?"

"Not even a little. I really need Walter's help." Peter disappears into the kitchen and comes back with two bottles of beer. "Here. I'd managed to keep myself from drinking alone, so thanks for the excuse."

"Cheers." Lincoln takes a long swallow before he remembers that he drove here, but as long as he sticks to just the one he'll be all right. "I can try to talk to him, if you want. I don't know him as well as Olivia does, but...."

Peter shrugs. "You can try. But I know Walter. He's not gonna do anything he doesn't want to before he's good and ready. And I'm afraid I'm just too much of a shock to his system."

"You always call your father 'Walter'?"

"Habit." Peter gives him a wry smile. "A lot of bad history. When I got drafted into Fringe Division, it seemed to be the most neutral option."

There's definitely a story there. "What do you mean, 'drafted'?"

Peter eyes him for a second, then motions for Lincoln to grab a seat. "Sure, why not. It's pretty funny, in retrospect."

And it is: Peter recounts how Olivia flew all the way to Bagdad so she could blackmail him into signing Dr. Bishop out of the institution. Peter's amusement at being bluffed is evident, and so is the love in his voice when he talks about Olivia. Or rather an Olivia in some other universe, apparently a lot like the one Lincoln knows. It'd be too much to absorb if he hadn't already met another Olivia, the redheaded one who'd checked him out with barely veiled hilarity in her eyes.

But Peter's Olivia sounds a lot like the Olivia who's Lincoln's partner, and that makes him wonder about the rest of Peter's world. "So you'd met me before too? I mean, in your universe?"

Peter smiles. "I did. We worked a case together. Got along well."

"What was I like?" He's seen the video images of the other side's Lincoln Lee, although he still can't quite imagine how he might have evolved so differently.

"Pretty much the same," Peter is saying, and Lincoln doesn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. "'You' were an analyst, not a field agent. Didn't have a partner. Otherwise...."

Lincoln nods, trying to picture it. It's not that difficult, really. He'd been pushed toward the analytical branch throughout his career, winning the chance to go out into the field only through perseverance and constant training. Robert had gone to bat for him as well, citing his need for a partner who could balance his impulsiveness with cool reason.

It hurts to think about Robert, but...less, now. There's still a need for vengeance that won't be filled until they find the shapeshifters and figure out their agenda, but Lincoln knows it won't be any less satisfying for the interval.

He's still thinking about Peter's comment, too. He takes another swallow of beer, realizing that somewhere along the line he'd moved on to a second bottle, and that this one's nearly tapped out. Between the alcohol and the hour discretion is pretty much out of the question, at this point. "So by 'got along' you mean...."

"If things hadn't gone to shit right after that case, I would have recommended to Broyles that he poach you for the Fringe team." Peter sighs, a faint pensive smile on his lips. "And it's late and you asked, so yeah, if I hadn't been--wasn't--completely in love with Olivia, I would've asked you out for a drink after that. And brought you back here if you'd been amenable."

Like Peter said, it's late, which is the only thing that excuses the inevitable follow-up. "And-- and now?"

Peter's smile turns gentle. "I'm still in love with Olivia."

Lincoln feels like punching himself in the face, but Peter goes on without seeming to have taken offense. "Out of sight, out of mind doesn't apply, even in other universes. I need to believe she's out there, looking for me."

"I'm sure she is," he offers lamely. It's-- it's really _sad,_ if he stops to think about it, which is probably a really bad idea given the hour and the alcohol.

Peter says abruptly, "You're still living out of a hotel?"

"Huh? Yeah."

"You can move in here, if you want. Plenty of room. And it doesn't look like Walter's gonna be reclaiming his property any time soon."

Presumptuous, maybe, for more than one reason. But tempting. Peter adds, "You can tell Broyles you'll keep an eye on me. Free up an agent from babysitting duty. Tim's pretty sick of me already and I can't say the feeling's not mutual, and the guy sitting out there tonight's not interested in conversation. I tried."

Lincoln looks at the remnants of his second beer. "Let me think about it when I'm sober, all right?"

"Sure." Peter rubs at his eyes. "Okay, I'm done. Gonna try to catch some sleep before there's another event. Couch is yours if you want it." He waves a casual hand good night and heads up the stairs.

The couch isn't so bad, really. And there's probably another bedroom upstairs if he decides to take Peter up on the offer. He'll need to reexamine the idea by daylight but right now, the booze and the coffee have reached détente and Lincoln feels that sleep is, in fact, an excellent idea.

***

In the morning Lincoln manages to scrape himself off the couch and get himself out the door and over to his hotel, which hasn't become any less crappy overnight. A shower, a change of clothes, and an egg McFood Substitute later and he's ready to crawl into work, feeling almost human. But the lack of sleep is going to catch up with him soon, he can tell. Another reason to either find an apartment of his own or take Peter's suggestion seriously.

He gets to the Federal Building before Olivia, which is a little surprising. There isn't actually that much to do: checking to see if there's been any sighting of the shapeshifter, scanning law enforcement reports for anomalous might-be-Fringe-events. Almost normal analysis work, except for the subject matter.

Still, Lincoln's probably more relieved than he's entitled to be, when Olivia walks in. He'd determined not check up on her until a reasonable time had passed, or to mention last night at all. She looks tired, like he's sure he does, but reasonably alert.

Olivia doesn't leave him hanging, either. She comes right over to his desk, looking apologetic. "Listen, I didn't mean to-- I blacked out from a migraine. Woke up on the floor a couple of hours ago."

He stares at her. "That's awful. Are-- you all right now? Can I drive you to the emergency room?" He's imagining terrible things, a brain tumor, he can't stop. The thought of her lying there....

Olivia shakes her head. "I've got a doctor's appointment later for a once-over, but it's not the first time that's happened. And I feel fine now. A headache, but a regular one." She smiles wanly at him, her eyes sincere and direct. "Let me make it up to you?"

"Nothing to make up," he says, meaning it. "But, uh, maybe early rather than late next time?"

She ducks her head, nodding. "That's...probably a good idea. So, uh...anything I need to catch up on?"

There really isn't but he fills her in anyway, and the rest of the morning is paperwork and procedural memos and not too many glances over to where she's frowning at the computer screen through her own glasses.

Shortly before lunch--he'd been contemplating asking if she wanted to grab something, mulling far too long over a simple question--Olivia sighs and stands up. "Time to go get my head examined." They both smile and Olivia wrinkles her nose. "I've got an MRI scheduled. So boring."

"It's got a good beat, but you can't dance to it," he offers, an old joke, but Olivia laughs anyway. In that moment, Lincoln Lee knows two things: one, that he'd do or say nearly anything to hear that sound again; and two, he is _smitten._ In the old-fashioned, head-over-heels sense of the word.

He watches as she straightens her desk and puts on her coat. She nods to him and turns to go, then pauses and looks back.

And Olivia says, "I like the new glasses."

***

Lincoln does move into the old house, of course.

He and Peter quickly become friends, which seems improbable on the face of it, but ends up being the easiest thing in the world. It shouldn't work: they're both in love with the same woman. Only Peter keep insisting that they're not, and the way he treats Olivia--like a cherished colleague, more than anything--makes Lincoln believe it. And there's still...

...there's still something between Peter and him, or something that _might_ have been between them, if not for Olivia. It hits Lincoln far too late that Peter reminds him of Robert with all his snarky commentary, but Peter is perceptive where Robert was oblivious and they're both careful not to push the mostly veiled attraction too far out into the open.

***

Lincoln and Olivia go jogging. They both like the early morning run, before people are up and about, when the day seems to belong to them alone. The first time isn't a make-up for the diner, because nothing was promised, and subsequent outings are not quite dates, because...well, just because.

They don't talk much, saving their breath for the exercise, but they don't need to. Olivia had told him that the MRI was clear, along with her blood work, and that there really wasn't anything more to do except deal with the migraines. Lincoln tried to make her promise to call him if she felt one coming on--a courtesy and a safeguard, reminding her that partners look out for each other. He wasn't sure she would actually take him up on it, but his concern is out there, at least.

Lincoln finds a great greasy spoon at the end of the route and while it doesn't exactly become a ritual for them to stop and get breakfast there, it's not an uncommon event either. The coffee's particularly good, the bagels as respectable as can be found outside of New York, and the atmosphere's...clean, at least.

There are guidelines about seeing your fellow agents in the FBI socially--as in, they're advised not to do it--but Lincoln's already realized that Fringe Division makes its own rules. Even Agent Broyles, who sees everything, seems to turn a blind eye as long as nothing impacts his agents' efficiency.

After reading the backlog of Fringe case files, Lincoln can't imagine anything that could impact Olivia Dunham's efficiency.

***

And then there's the case with the giant mutant spitting cockroaches, which Lincoln really would rather have done without. According to the files, cases involving oversized bugs (and germs, and other horrific abominations) aren't really that uncommon for this division, but considering his first official Fringe case had included a sentient fungus, Lincoln had been hoping the worst of the gross was behind him. No luck, apparently.

Finally they catch up with the whacko scientist responsible and toss him safely behind bars. Lincoln would have wagered there wasn't enough soap in the _world,_ but after a couple of scalding showers he finally feels clean again, the reports are written, and the case is successfully closed.

And Olivia says, "I'm buying."

***

Lincoln and Peter watch movies, a lot of movies. A few first-runs, mostly science fiction or superhero stuff. (Olivia declines the invitations to join them. "Our lives aren't science fiction enough?") Usually it's a pile of rental DVDs and a pile of assorted takeout and a lot of shouting at the screen.

They catch up on _X-Men: First Class_ , commenting freely on the absurdities and then on Fassbender's and McAvoy's brilliant portrayals, and when it's over Peter shakes his head. "That was gayer than any gay porn I've ever seen."

Lincoln grins. "So you've seen a lot to compare?"

Peter grins right back. "Worked as a lighting-and-camera guy for an adult film company for awhile. I didn't like the way they treated the actors, so I left after about a month and a half."

That leads to a discussion of all the odd jobs Peter's held, firefighter and pilot and professor and telephone line rigger and an absurd assortment of other work. Peter does most of the talking during their conversations, and that's all right by Lincoln; Peter's life has been much more interesting, by his reckoning.

***

And then there's the case with "Nadine Park," although they never learn if that's her real name. Thanks to Peter's expert hacking ability they track the shapeshifter down, but she throws herself into an industrial incinerator before they can capture her. No body, no memory disc to retrieve, another (literally) dead end.

And Olivia says, "There's a street fair this weekend, want to go?"

***

Broyles arranges for another bridge meeting so that the two Fringe teams can confer about the shapeshifters and other matters. Olivia's not entirely sure she trusts the other side, she confides to Lincoln, considering they haven't provided any useful intel on the human shapeshifters. But it's still the best option they've got.

For convenience of reference among themselves, other-Olivia is "Liv" and other-Lincoln is "Lee." Other-Astrid is "Farnsworth," Charlie is just Charlie, and none of them mention Secretary Bishop if they can help it.

Olivia, Lincoln, and Astrid make the trip to New York. Peter declines an invitation, saying that he's already spent too much time with them for his liking. Lincoln gets the feeling there's something or someone specific he's avoiding, but Peter doesn't seem inclined to share.

They meet Liv, Charlie, and Captain Lee in the room between universes, and right away Lincoln can see their dynamics in play: the other side's team works like a slick machine, finishing each others' sentences and...heedless of personal space between them. Lincoln's heard that Francis is married and Liv is engaged, but he wonders if they know that.

Olivia and Liv clash at every conceivable moment, but Olivia's professional with Lee and warm toward Charlie. He's nearly identical to the friend she'd lost, Lincoln has gathered, so that's not unexpected. Astrid is, as usual, friendly toward everyone and they respond in kind, perhaps a little surprised by her smiles and laughter when their own Farnsworth is so very different.

Lincoln takes his time gathering his own impressions as the meeting progresses. In the end they don't have very much of use to share with each other, but he's still grateful for the chance to have met these mirror-double people. Liv is...very different from Olivia, except when she's talking about a case, and then she's almost the same. Lincoln's not sure he likes her very much, but acknowledges that's probably Olivia's bias influencing his judgment. He does like Charlie Francis quite a lot, recognizing the sharp mind behind the casual, crude exterior.

As for Lee, Lincoln's alternate is funny and charismatic and...

Oh, hell. _Ridiculously_ hot. Lincoln's never thought of himself that way; he's never seen that kind of attractiveness in his mirror. (Maybe no one does, in regard to themselves, unless there's a bulletproof ego involved. But there are fundamental differences in this case.)

He does...check, when he gets home, door safely closed. Unlike his father, Peter has appropriate regard for personal space and won't barge in. Lincoln scrounges around for an old t-shirt, takes the glasses off, musses his hair--feeling ridiculous the whole time--and looks again.

...no. The similarity is there, obviously, features and bone structure and all. It's more than that, a question of bearing and attitude and confidence. Lincoln's never thought of himself as lacking in confidence, but he doesn't have that essential...cool.

His alternate is _cool_ and that's all there is to it.

That's all right. Given the state of Captain Lee's world, Lincoln considers the tradeoff worth the cost.

***

And then there's a strange long stretch without a Fringe case, and they find themselves getting twitchy, the exact opposite of a normal response. Some of them start manifesting stress behaviors: Astrid bakes constantly, Walter's side experiments get increasingly bizarre, and Peter tears apart and rebuilds every electronic thing he can get his hands on.

Olivia and Lincoln agree that they are perfectly content with the hiatus, and it's not like they're idle; there are always other cases that need attention, and lending a hand on mundane assignments lets them pretend they're ordinary agents for awhile. They even have time for real meals, at something approximating normal people's schedules.

And Olivia says, "I'm a terrible cook. But I'll give it a shot if you want to come over."

Lincoln would have thought that two adults with above-average reading comprehension skills could manage to follow a recipe without making a mess of things but no, Olivia's kitchen looks like a bomb of flour and water hit it by the time they're done. In the end they agree that biscuits were probably the advanced course, and they scrounge dinner out of the odds and ends in Olivia's cabinets and fridge.

There's an old black and white movie marathon that Olivia had been talking about, so they settle in on the couch. It's only a few minutes in when Olivia says abruptly, "I don't feel like watching this."

"Sure, whatever you--"

She starts to get up and Lincoln moves to follow, but her hand on his chest pushes him back down. Olivia smiles at him, shy and sweet and wicked all at the same time, as she swings around to sit astride his lap.

"Okay?" she whispers, leaning in.

"No," he says, and smiles into her widening eyes. "Amazing."

She laughs, like he'd hoped, and she kisses him like he's been dreaming of, and the rest is better than any fantasy.

The morning after the night Lincoln doesn't come home Peter smiles at him, approving and with something like envy. Or maybe more like yearning.

***

Walter thaws, eventually. He mostly treats Peter like a visiting professor with whom he deigns to share theories and blackboard space, but everyone recognizes that it's the best he can do.

After weeks of working on the Problem of Peter they're no closer to a solution. Lincoln thinks that Peter's held up remarkably well, all things considered, but once in awhile he falls into a deep, black mood that threatens to suck all the air out of the house. There's nothing Lincoln can say, and he doesn't try; he just makes himself available if Peter wants to vent, quietly inconspicuous if he doesn't.

"The thing is," Peter says suddenly, one of those dark days, "it wasn't just three years I remember with Olivia. It was _fifteen._ "

Lincoln listens with wonder and horror as Peter explains about putting himself into the machine...and being catapulted into the future, gaining years of memories in an instant. Years in which he was married to Olivia and they lived and loved and worked together to save their dying world.

"I know that future isn't mine anymore, it isn't anyone's. That's been averted. But I still remember it." Peter looks at him, his expression bleak. "I can't stand not being with her. Not after all that."

Lincoln actually feels _guilty_ for a fleeting moment before he reminds himself that there isn't any reason to be.

***

Olivia's migraines still appear intermittently, seemingly without cause or pattern. She keeps putting off Walter's offers to run more tests, and Lincoln can't really blame her for that after seeing the contraption of wires and probes Walter intends to use.

He'd been staying over at her place more and more often over the last few weeks. Not every night, but even when they haven't scheduled a date, if it's late and he's passing by just out of habit and her light's on, he can't resist the urge to go up. When he gets up to Olivia's floor one random evening, though, the door is open and there's a red-headed woman standing in the hall. "...Ms. Sharp?" he says as he gets closer, starting to be alarmed. "What are--"

Without a word Nina Sharp swings around, viper-quick, something in her hand coming up while she presses a masklike device to her face, and there's a faint hiss and--

***

The next thing Lincoln knows he's lying in bed with Olivia, which would ordinarily be a pleasant state of affairs, except he can't remember how he got here. It's morning, when the last thing he remembers is deciding to take a walk last night. And his headache is _terrible._

He lifts his head to see Olivia stirring too, starting to wake. "Olivia-- ow. Olivia, what happened?"

"Oh. Did I black out again? But I don't remember...." she looks at him. "Wait. You, too?"

"This isn't about migraines," he says grimly, and gets up to find aspirin, water, and a phone.

The first step, while they wait for Astrid and Peter, is knocking on doors to find out if anyone else on this floor of the building experienced anything strange. Lincoln gets a lot of suspicious and then concerned looks, but no one reports sudden bouts of unconsciousness. Which means Olivia's been _targeted_ and this has been going on for months, and Lincoln is cursing at himself for not encouraging her to submit to Walter's tests after all.

Astrid arrives, bringing a briefcase full of jury-rigged equipment. Peter arrives, bringing a tool kit and a dark expression. Together they search the place with meticulous attention: Astrid announces that environmental scans found trace elements of a chemical to be identified later, while Peter disassembles the video cam and finds evidence of tampering.

They haul themselves and all the data back to the lab, and it's not really a surprise when the results come up. Both the chemical and the electronic components were manufactured by Massive Dynamic, like everything seems to be.

"That woman!" Walter snarls. "I told you she couldn't be trusted."

"Walter, we don't have any proof," Olivia says, rubbing at the back of her neck. "Anyone could have used these things."

"'Anyone' doesn't have access to this," Bishop says triumphantly, waving the results of the blood work he'd insisted on doing for both of them. "Ordinary tests wouldn't have detected it. Agent Ford's blood is clean, but yours, Agent Dunham, shows significant amounts of Cortexiphan. "

Lincoln doesn't bother with a correction. "The stuff from the trials? What Cameron James was dosed with?"

"And me," Olivia says quietly.

"Okay, so...." Lincoln paces a few steps, then stops. "I wasn't...supposed to be there. So maybe I saw something I can't remember?"

"Hypnotism!" Walter crows, sounding entirely too excited. "We can retrieve those memories, boy, don't you worry."

Lincoln looks over at Olivia, who considers a moment and then nods. "If...you're willing. It's noninvasive, at least," she says with a wry look.

"All right. Just don't let him make me cluck like a chicken."

Walter doesn't, Astrid and Olivia and Peter assure him afterward. He does retrieve Lincoln's memory of Nina Sharp standing outside the door, and Olivia's face is cold and still and terrible.

Lincoln wants to reach out to her, but she's clearly in no mood for comfort. Olivia's in the mood for answers and before he knows it, they're in the car and heading to New York, speed limits be damned. Lincoln chooses the better part of valor and matches his silence to hers.

Ms. Sharp agrees to meet with them, even without an appointment, and it's clear from the moment they walk in that she knows the game is up. "Olivia, I hope you'll give me a chance to explain."

Olivia nods minutely, granting permission like a monarch, like she's the one who commands this corporation and all its resources. "Go on."

Nina's tone is clinical, expository. "You need to understand, of all the Cortexiphan subjects, you showed the most promise before you ran away. The pyrokinetic flare was only the first possible manifestation. But you had such resistance to the trials, it seemed counterproductive to try to bring you back."

"So taking me and Rachel into your home was the more efficient option?" Olivia matches Nina's manner flawlessly, not a hint of emotion in her voice. "The better to keep an eye on your escaped lab rat?"

Nina winces, her façade cracking. "It...wasn't like that. I did, I do honestly care for you both, you have to believe me."

"The days of believing you about anything are over." Olivia turns on her heel and walks out.

Lincoln stares for another moment at the woman who's been assaulting his-- his partner. "I expect you'll send us everything you have on the trials, both the ones in the past and your most recent attempts. You really don't want Olivia coming back in here after them."

"Y-yes. I will. " Nina slumps, looking _aged_ for the first time since Lincoln met her. "Agent Lee, she won't believe me now, but I really was trying to prepare her for what she's going to need to do. This problem with the alternate universe, it won't be solved by--"

"Put it in the report," Lincoln says, and follows Olivia out.

Olivia's withdrawn all the way back to Boston. When they stop at the Federal Building to report to Agent Broyles, Lincoln's half expecting her to hand the job over to him. But Olivia's still on task as she delivers her statement, calmly and without emotion.

Broyles, on the other hand, is full of towering, unmitigated fury at hearing of the assault on his agent. It's only Olivia's reasoned assessment that they can use this incident as leverage for Nina's cooperation in future cases that keeps him from immediately getting the Attorney General on the phone. "If you change your mind, Agent Dunham, you have my full and complete backing on this."

It's ridiculously late by the time they're done, and neither of them has eaten, and Olivia's detachment is starting to become alarming. "Olivia, please let me--"

She doesn't let him finish. "Not...now. I need to see this through."

"You don't have to do it alone," Lincoln's left saying to the empty air. He's up the rest of the night, waiting for a call that never comes.

***

The files arrive by courier the next day. Along with the promised Jacksonville dossier and current notes is a letter. Lincoln reads it first, after Olivia gives him the nod. It's short and to the point, skipping sentimentality in favor of a stark warning.

"Listen to this." Lincoln reads it off aloud. _"My attempts to reactivate Olivia's abilities, unlike Dr. Bishop's experiments, were intended to be a measured process. Not all of those who believe as I do that her capabilities are needed will be as gentle. It has come to my attention that David Robert Jones is seeking a way to return to this world. He believes Olivia to be a soldier, a recruit for the coming war, and he is willing to sacrifice any life, even his own, to activate Olivia's latent abilities by any means necessary."_

Olivia blinks. "Jones? The last time we saw him, he escaped through a portal to the alternate universe. Farnsworth's done searches, but they haven't found anything about him over there, and it's been over two years. We'd assumed he'd died as a result of the teleportation sickness."

None of that would have made any sense if Lincoln hadn't virtually memorized the older Fringe case files by now. "Huh. Nice to be forewarned, I guess."

Lincoln also finds a note on his phone with no sender registered. _Bear in mind that if I had meant you harm, no one would ever have found your body._ He very carefully doesn't show it to Olivia. Despite the attempt at intimidation, he doesn't feel it's an actual threat; Nina Sharp doesn't seem like someone who gives warnings. He does show it to Peter, who agrees with his assessment. "She always played her cards close. I never thought she wanted to hurt Olivia, but her agenda doesn't necessarily line up with ours."

Walter promises to redouble his efforts to create a thin-spot detector, and they put all possible alerts in place. Olivia is as efficient as Olivia always is, but the strain is clearly wearing on her.

It'll be easiest, Lincoln had already determined, if he doesn't give her a choice. "C'mon, I'm taking you home. Hot tea and Indian takeout. It's an offer you can't refuse."

Olivia's smile is hesitant but there, and he'll take it.

At her apartment he sends her off to change out of work clothes, while he tackles the tea. This, he can handle--and after a moment's thought he doctors both mugs with a healthy shot from the ever-present whiskey bottle. The takeout arrives just as Olivia's emerging from the bedroom in her oldest, softest sweatshirt and a faded pair of leggings, and Lincoln's taking it as a positive sign that she's comfortable enough with him that she can relax in her most casual clothes.

Olivia takes the tea and her eyes widen as she sips. "Thank you. I...didn't get any sleep last night."

"Me either," Lincoln says for honesty's sake, but there's no need to stress the point. They eat with appetite--he'd over-ordered, banking on leftovers, but there's nothing left but Styrofoam at the end--and curl up on the couch together to channel surf, drowsy and full and content.

At least until Lincoln realizes that Olivia's crying, nearly silently and without the slightest motion. The picture of Nina and Rachel on the table, he'd already noticed, is face down.

Her voice when she finally speaks is a harsh whisper. "I thought she cared, I thought...but it was all a lie, I was just her experiment."

Lincoln thinks of the pictures on Nina's desk. He's not so sure, but discretion and a healthy sense of self-preservation keep him from voicing the thought. All he can do is hold her, and that seems to be enough.

In the morning Olivia wakes him with the smell of brewing coffee, and a smile as she pulls him into the shower. They're late for work, but no one dares say a word.

***

Nina's warning came just in time.

Months ago, the team had retrieved a device Walter referred to as a "quantum entangled telegraph," used by agents from the other universe to communicate back to their own world and receive instructions. With the truce in place, the device--it looks like an ordinary typewriter, to Lincoln's eyes--had been remanded to Walter's lab, for purposes of contact in case of emergency. When it begins to spill out a message from Captain Lee a few days after Nina's warning, all other work stops as the team gathers around to read.

Given the new alert about Jones, the other Fringe team had expanded the parameters of their search and come up with a likely match. Someone matching Jones' description (less accurate than Farnsworth had been satisfied with, given that the last time Olivia had seen him, Jones had been wrapped in bandages and losing his flesh to radiation poisoning) had infiltrated a CDC lab...by walking through the walls. It's not the first time both sides had seen tech like that, but there didn't seem to be any equipment associated with the feat this time. The intruder had grabbed a number of vials from a maximum-security area, then followed up by setting high-heat explosives to sterilize the area, so no determination could be made about what he'd stolen.

There's little either side can do to respond until a BioWatch alert goes off at the Massive Dynamic building in New York, an automated alarm that sends the entire multistory building into lockdown until a test can confirm the results. The programmed reaction, alarming as it is, turns out not to be at all out of proportion when the CDC analysis comes back with a positive identification: a virulent, airborne strain of smallpox.

The nearly instant detection allows the CDC to formulate a response, gathering up enough smallpox vaccine to inoculate all the employees...but not the courier who brought the pathogen in. He'd died instantly on the scene, biting down on a cyanide capsule as metal gates crashed down over the exterior doors.

An act of bioterrorism wouldn't necessarily have been a Fringe case, although both Olivia and Lincoln are pulled in during the initial response to help coordinate among the various government agencies. Lincoln finds himself on the phone nearly constantly with the CDC senior official on site, an affable doctor named Frank Stanton, though he doesn't learn about the man's particular significance until later.

But investigation of the courier-slash-bioterrorist leads to old Fringe cases involving scientific bioterrorism and the ZFT manuscript, and that stinks of Jones all over.

Nina Sharp, haggard over the video conferencing link, promises again to dig for any other associates Jones might be reconnecting with. Again via the typewriter, Captain Lee organizes a large care package of the smallpox post-exposure treatment the other side has developed--and to obfuscate its point of origin Nina agrees to announce that Massive Dynamic has been secretly producing the therapy and will pay the fines for circumventing all current medical community strictures. A small price to pay, Lincoln thinks with pointed cynicism, considering that Massive Dynamic will be considered the hero of the current crisis and its stock prices will likely shoot through the roof.

Twelve days later, hospitals in Akron and elsewhere in northeastern Ohio begin to report an odd flu strain; shortly thereafter, the alert goes out to signal another outbreak. It's worse this time, with a broader spread and a much higher risk of a true epidemic. But they have the vaccine for the recently exposed and actual treatment for the infected, so the CDC's mortality projections are considerably lower than anyone might have hoped.

But not zero, and the vaccine itself is not without risk. With two outbreaks in quick succession, the entire country is on high terror alert. It's a small consolation that once the site of the initial outbreak is traced to the Wooster Campus of Ohio State University, they have a lead.

"I know where he's going next," Olivia says grimly, and within hours she, Lincoln, and Peter are on a plane to Florida.

Broyles calls ahead to evacuate the Jacksonville naval base, and its inhabitants are scheduled for preventative inoculations. The base and its associated residential areas look like a ghost town when they arrive, but both Olivia and Peter seem to know exactly where they're headed. Olivia points out her childhood home on the way past, which looks like every other house on the block except for the red door.

It's almost anticlimactic when they find Jones inside the daycare. He's sitting calmly in one of the classrooms, waiting for them, a vial in his hand. "Back to where it all started, yes, Ms. Dunham?"

Olivia levels her gun but Lincoln can already see it won't work; Jones is...translucent, wavery, just like Olivia had described the way she'd last seen him, and then her bullets had passed through him. He looks like a pale shadow of the man in the picture from the old prison file, thin and colorless.

Jones stands, bows mockingly, and walks right through the outside wall.

They hear his voice even as they race around the corner of the building. "Before they can be considered soldiers," Jones pronounces like a mantra, his voice echoing weirdly, "they must be regarded as recruits. And the expectation must be that they shall be unwilling."

He's standing in the center of the playground, his hand still around the vial. "The prevailing winds will take the contagion straight into the city. And it is only fair to warn you that my friend here is a weaponized hemorrhagic strain, for which you have no vaccine and no cure. Your firearm will not suffice, Ms. Dunham. There is only one way to stop me--and it is you."

Olivia motions for Lincoln and Peter to circle around, although Lincoln isn't sure how they're going to catch an insubstantial man. "Mr. Jones, I know what you want, but I don't have these...these powers you attribute to me."

Jones nods understandingly, almost sympathetically. "So your companions there, you will watch them die in agony?"

"Chances are I will too," Olivia shoots back. "You think I'm valuable, but you're willing to kill me to prove your point?"

Jones' face splits into a rictus smile. "I have faith in you, Ms. Dunham, even if you refuse to have faith in yourself. You will prove yourself worthy. You have no other choice." His thumb taps at the vial's cap, circles it once.

The air feels...strange, charged somehow, like the quiet before a storm. Olivia's...

Olivia's standing there facing Jones, and something about her reminds Lincoln of a picture he saw once, maybe a book cover, of a blonde girl with her hair flying, some kind of special effect gathering around her--

Beside him, Peter sucks in a breath. "Lincoln, get down!" He doesn't argue, just throws himself to the ground behind a jumble of colorful playground equipment as Peter drops down beside him. "Hold your breath," Peter hisses, and again Lincoln obeys just before a flash of light and overwhelming heat cascades all around them, searing the air.

Lincoln waits a moment but the phenomenon doesn't repeat. Peter's warning, he realizes, came just in time; even though they were protected from the fire itself, the superheated air could have charbroiled his lungs. He lets out a shaky overdue breath and peers up over the half-melted barricade.

Olivia's standing in a circle of burnt earth, radiating out from her, and smoke is still rising from her hands. Jones--or what's left of him, a human outline made of ash--begins to blow away in the breeze.

They both run over to her, but she holds out a warning hand. "Don't. Don't."

Peter knows just what to say. "Olivia. You've done this before, it's okay. You're in control now."

"I've...done this before." Her brow furrows as she stares at Peter, like she's trying to remember. "When I was a kid, once." Olivia's eyes go wide. "No. _Twice._ The second time, afterward, I met you in a field of flowers."

Lincoln feels something breaks loose, the fabric of the universe itself maybe, and suddenly he's _remembering._

Two timelines crash together in his mind, driving him to the ground with the simultaneous and conflicting memories. Lincoln remembers everything from the past few months exactly as it happened; he also remembers working with Peter to find a woman named Dana Gray, just like Peter had told him. He remembers going back to his solitary life, dreaming of a world more strange than he'd ever imagined and knowing that there was a division out there he'd never be a part of.

He hears Olivia crying out, and her voice resolves into one word. "Peter...!"

She's also sprawled on the ground, clinging to Peter for dear life, but her gaze reaches past him to find and hold Lincoln's eyes.

He hasn't even begun to process what's just happened, but Lincoln instinctively knows this:

They're all completely screwed.

***

The rest is a blur. They all scrape themselves together, but Lincoln doesn't like Olivia's pale color. He's about to suggest a run by the local hospital (although he has no idea what he'd tell them, honestly) when Olivia says, "Jones was smiling." She shudders, swaying on her feet. "When the fire hit him. He was _smiling._ "

And then her eyes roll back in her head and she drops, or would have if both Peter and Lincoln hadn't been right there to catch her. Her skin feels cold and clammy, but she's breathing easily. A frantic call to Walter assures them that this is "normal," perhaps even to be expected. "Manifestation stress. And the energy expenditure," he says, sounding entirely too excited for Lincoln's liking, "she pulled the energy from inside herself. She'll be fine, Agent Lee, just let her rest. Now...if you would please...put my son on the phone?"

It's the proper use of his name that really convinces. Lincoln takes charge, making a brief statement to the Florida authorities before hustling the three of them onto an overnight charter flight. At this point, he no longer cares if the FBI will reimburse him for the expense. Before they take off Lincoln contacts the FBI and the CDC to tell them that the threat is over, and he carefully spends the flight not thinking about much at all. Olivia is unconscious all the way back from Florida, and Peter stares at her the whole time.

There's no question of going anywhere but straight to the Harvard lab from the airfield. Olivia wakes as they're pulling up in the taxi, her eyes full of confusion.

"My God," Peter finally says, once they're safely inside. "All this time. I'd convinced myself this was the wrong universe. But it isn't. I'm _home._ " He hasn't let go of Olivia's hand since she woke, and she seems stunned but content to hold onto him in return.

Walter is nearly delirious with joy and keeps walking by to touch Peter's shoulders and face. Astrid is smiling too, looking over at Peter and Olivia with fondness, although at points she stops to give Lincoln a sympathetic glance. It seems the memories of the two timelines have only returned to those people most closely involved with Peter, which is infinitely fortunate: Lincoln can just imagine the entire world's populace going insane with the conflicting memories.

He feels like maybe he's not that far off himself.

"Think of the phenomenon," Walter expounds, "like throwing a pebble into the center of a lake. There is an indentation, a dimple if you will, where it hits, and then emanating ripples that smooth out the farther they get from the center. At the edge of the lake, there would be no sign that the pebble ever existed. ...Peter is the pebble, you see," he adds, unnecessarily.

"Thank you, Walter," Peter says in his driest tone, although he's smiling too.

Lincoln wonders, idly, if the team on the other side is experiencing the same event. Some of them should be, at least. Peter's told him a fair amount about his history as he experienced it, and a good deal of it impacts them as well. The whole episode where Olivia was kidnapped, in particular; a brief abduction in this timeline, but apparently a two-month stretch where she lived and worked in Liv's shoes, in the other.

Lincoln busies himself with taking care of the cleanup and cover-up of the Jones case. The part about Olivia manifesting super-powers very carefully doesn't appear in any report. He takes on the task of filling in Agent Broyles, who's made a rare physical appearance in the lab. Very little for him had changed, it seems, except for some conflicting memories of certain cases.

A hush falls over the lab and Lincoln turns to see an intruder.

There's a pale, bald--Lincoln peers more closely--hairless man in a dark suit standing in the middle of the room. He seems unperturbed by everyone's stares and remains absolutely still, looking at Peter with an unnervingly intent expression.

His voice, like the rest of him, is mild. But the words sound ominous. "You are here."

Peter's tone is firm, but gentle. "I am here. Thank you for saving my life, at the lake."

The man's expression doesn't change, but his voice sounds uncertain. "That was my error."

"No, my friend." Walter's voice rings out, unexpectedly confident. "The error was in trying to undo what had already been done."

Lincoln has _no_ idea what's going on here, who this man is or why the others are watching him with such apprehension. But everything in their posture tells him it might be a really bad idea to try to interfere.

The bald man regards Peter for another long moment. "It seems," he says slowly, "that perhaps you were meant to be here after all." The innocuous words sound almost like...a reprieve, like a governor's call for a stay of execution. Without another word he puts on his hat, turns, and rapidly walks out of the lab. No one moves to pursue, and Lincoln follows their lead.

The silence persists until he can't stand it anymore. "So I take it that...person...represents a Fringe event of some significance?"

"Possibly the greatest significance," Walter says solemnly, and then breaks into a broad grin. "My son is _home._ Strawberry milkshakes for everyone!"

Astrid laughs and goes to retrieve supplies, and they all start moving again. Walter starts to tell him about the bald man, the "Observer," although Lincoln only listens with half an ear. The rest of his attention is on Olivia and Peter and the way they're leaning into each other. They...fit, obviously and naturally.

Part of him feels like he should step back. Peter's known Olivia longer, loved her longer. He knew her before Lincoln ever learned anything about Fringe events.

The rest of him says, fuck that. He deserves happiness too. And he loves Olivia Dunham. Lincoln's pretty sure she loves him too, and that's worth fighting for.

But right now everything's too new and raw to contemplate any more conflict, of any kind. The rest of the day passes with cataloging and comparing the two timelines, matching up events and making note of the discrepancies. Olivia barely says a word to him until the end of the day and then they're both so shy with each other, so uncertain, that it's almost painful.

"Lincoln, I just...need time."

"I understand."

She looks into his face, searchingly, clearly trying to find her own words. "No, I-- You need to know. I remember Peter." Olivia's fingers brush his hand, lightly, the touch nearly indiscernible. But Lincoln feels it all the way down. "I haven't forgotten you."

It's all he needs to hear for now.

***

He and Peter return to the house, once Walter has decided that he can stand to let Peter out of his sight. There's no question of finding a different accommodation, even considering the current circumstances. Walter's already been talking about moving out of the lab, now that he doesn't need to be afraid of the world any more, but that's tomorrow's issue.

It should be more awkward between them. They're in love with the same woman--truly the same one, as it turns out--but Lincoln can't find it in his heart to resent Peter. With everything Peter's told him, the way he looked at Olivia and she looked at him...Lincoln would have to be made of stone to deny that.

And as soon as they step through the door, Peter says "I'm sorry."

In Lincoln's mind it's initially a tossup between whether he's hearing "I'm sorry you and Olivia have to break up" or "I'm sorry, I have to kill you now," but Peter, as usual, surprises him.

"Nothing about this is fair to either of us. Or to Olivia."

"I never thought you believed in the concept of 'fair', anyway," Lincoln says dryly, and goes to fetch them both a much-needed beer.

"...I don't," Peter finally replies, after they've both had the chance to lubricate their nerves. "I just wish...dammit, Linc, I don't even know what I wish anymore."

"Be careful," Lincoln says, very precisely, "what you wish for."

Peter barks a short laugh. "I was a fucking _prophet_ with that one." They finish their beer but neither of them goes for another. It's just too dangerous at this point. "You haven't said much."

"What is there to say?" he shoots back, immediately wincing at both the unintended tone and the deflection. "I'm still trying to sort through which memories are really mine. I imagine Olivia is too."

"They're all really yours," Peter says quietly, but Lincoln's not going to be drawn into that discussion, not now. He says a curt good night, knowing Peter will understand, and stalks off to his room.

Lincoln can feel himself withdrawing into the watchful silence that became his refuge after his parents were killed. And that's...part of the problem, because he and Olivia share that same kind of defense. There's too much they haven't actually _said,_ and now he's afraid it's too late.

But he's also thinking about his...his other life, too, and how sad and lonely it was. No Robert and Jules and the kids to have him over for holiday meals, or just because. No partner to watch his back or make him late to work or--

He's smiling, he realizes, remembering Robert now. His memories of this life are wonderful, even the awful parts, because he had that. And he's had Olivia in his life the last few months and if that ends too....

"I haven't forgotten you," she said. He'll cling to that, until he can't.

***

The next day Olivia calls in sick, pleading exhaustion. Lincoln goes to the office, Peter goes to the lab, and aside from the timeline cataloging it's nearly an ordinary day with no Fringe weirdness whatsoever. Lincoln never ever in his whole short career with this division thought he'd be wishing for that kind of diversion, but it would have to be better than this frozen quiet.

He touches base with the CDC, which has admirably contained and managed the two outbreaks. Halfway through the day, an email with multiple files appears in Olivia's account and is instantly flagged; with Broyles' permission, Lincoln opens it up and gets a nasty shock when he sees its sender is--or was--David Robert Jones. _"This message was set to be sent automatically, if I was not available to prevent its transmission. I knew you would not fail."_ The files contain all the data Jones gathered about the human shapeshifters during his time in the other universe, a treasure trove of information.

He and Peter meet back at home and scrounge for a dinner neither of them really wants. After the debrief on Jones' posthumous gift there's nothing much to talk about, both carefully avoiding the obvious fact that Olivia actually bailed out of work rather than see them.

It feels like she can't stand to look at either of them.

Lincoln's rinsing off the scarcely used dishes when he feels Peter's hand on his shoulder. "I don't want to lose you either," he says, and Lincoln's had enough of discretion. He shuts off the faucet and turns, stepping into Peter's space and putting a hand to the back of his neck to pull him in. There's a fleeting pause and then Peter is kissing him back, savagely, their teeth clashing. Lincoln feels his lip split under their mutual assault and doesn't care, not even when Peter catches the tear between his own teeth and bites.

There's a faint noise from the kitchen doorway and they pry themselves away from each other to look. Olivia's standing there, looking shocked. "Oh," she says in a very small voice, and vanishes.

 _Literally_ vanishes, there one second and gone the next. Lincoln and Peter glance at each other, confirming they both just saw that, and rush out into the living room to make sure she hasn't fled out the front door or something mundane. No sign of her. In a story there would be some trace, a scent of ozone or Nightcrawler-teleportation brimstone, but she's simply...gone.

Peter is swearing, a long unbroken litany of interesting curses that part of Lincoln's brain catalogs for future use. But somewhere in that stream is something akin to "not again" and that sounds like it might actually be relevant right now. "Peter! Stop. Tell me what just happened."

Peter stops cursing and starts talking, slowly and then with more confidence. "Olivia used to...be able to move between universes. That was one of her Cortexiphan powers. It usually required a pretty powerful stressor."

He doesn't need to finish. "Okay. Okay. So Olivia...jumped over in the other universe? Where this house is over there?"

"Yeah. She should be okay, she'll probably make her way over to the other team's HQ. But Lincoln, dammit...." Peter looks at him, mingled despair and longing and fear. "What the hell are we going to do now?"

***

Together, silently, they decide to head to New York and the bridge room. If Olivia reappears at the house, presumably she'll have her cell phone still with her and can reach them that way. If she still wants to talk to them at all.

It's a very, very tense night of waiting before the door on the other side of the bridge opens and Olivia comes through early the next morning, accompanied by Lincoln's alternate.

They're laughing together, other-Lincoln's arm too-familiarly wrapped around Olivia's waist. She nods when she sees Lincoln and Peter, and turns to whisper in Captain Lee's ear. He laughs, the sound carrying right across the room. Lincoln watches in something like disbelief as his alternate kisses Olivia's cheek and then takes her arm and escorts her toward them like they're off to the opera.

"This...can't be good?" Lincoln whispers, but Olivia and Lee are there standing in front of them before Peter can respond.

"Hey. I'm sorry if I scared you. I...didn't mean to jump, and then I couldn't get back." Olivia seems relaxed, almost serene. "I'm just lucky Captain Lee was on duty to bring me back."

Lee smirks. "I'm always available to you. On duty or off."

Olivia laughs again, bumping him with her shoulder, and when did they get so _friendly?_ "Anyway. I guess...we should talk."

"That's my cue." Lee squeezes Olivia's shoulder and steps back. "Just remember, you guys. There is always a third option." He winks and heads back toward his world, leaving the three of them standing there, staring at each other.

Or rather, Lincoln and Peter staring at Olivia; she's got her best impenetrable Mona Lisa smile on and doesn't seem inclined to say another word. "We're just glad you're okay," Lincoln offers.

"C'mon," Peter says gruffly. "Let's get out of here."

***

But despite Olivia's suggestion that they talk, no one can quite find the right words to start. Put most simply Olivia walked in and caught them both cheating on her, but Lincoln feels like that summation doesn't really describe the whole situation and all the tangled connections between the three of them.

"Let's go to my place," Olivia finally says, when they reach the outskirts of Boston. Once there, Lincoln and Peter--sitting on the living room couch at a respectfully proper distance from each other while Olivia perches on the edge of a chair across from them--wait patiently for her to begin.

"I don't know," Olivia says slowly, "if this will help or hurt. But Lee was telling me--"

"Wait," Peter interrupts, and if he'd been in arm's reach Lincoln would have hit him. Hard. "'livia, you gotta believe us, what you saw...that hadn't happened before. I mean, we hadn't...done anything."

"Thought about it," Lincoln adds for honesty's sake before he can stop himself, and Peter nods. They glance at each other with mutually chagrined expressions, and Olivia....

Olivia smiles. "I know. I might've wondered a little, but I believe you. Although it does make this...easier, maybe." She takes a long breath. "Things happened over there, in the past few days. Charlie's having his marriage annulled, Liv broke up with Frank. The three of them were...involved, before. When they got the memories back, they realized they couldn't stand to be apart anymore."

Peter stares at her. "So over there your alternate and Lincoln's alternate and Charlie Francis...."

"Yeah." Olivia shrugs and looks down at her feet. "I...don't know what that means. Not everything's the same here. But I...."

"Olivia." Peter's tone is remarkably steady, where Lincoln still can't find his voice. "Are you saying you want to try it? The three of us together?"

But she's run out of words, apparently, and just looks up at him and then at Lincoln with a mute expression full of uncertainty.

"Well." Peter sounds...like he wants to laugh, mostly. "Cards on the table. I'm for it."

Lincoln does laugh, he can't help it, and after a moment Olivia does too. He feels his lip split again and licks at it instinctively; Peter catches the gesture and smirks. Lincoln gets the feeling that if Peter was given leave to direct the scene they'd all be naked within two minutes--and he can't argue, that's a very tempting picture--but there's too much at stake here to think that would solve anything.

Because it's _stunning,_ what Olivia is saying--or half-saying, with Peter filling in the gaps. He'd almost been expecting a halting break-up speech, certainly for him, maybe for both of them if Olivia was really angry about what she'd walked in on. But she doesn't seem angry at all, just tired and hesitant, and Lee's comment about "the third option" suddenly makes sense.

"...oookay," Peter murmurs after a silent moment. "I'll just wait for you two to catch up."

And again Lincoln might have punched him if Peter had been sitting closer. He's too tense for a joke, his nerves feel too raw, despite the involuntary laughter a moment before. Olivia must feel the same, because she shakes her head at him. "Peter...this is difficult enough."

"You're the one who suggested it first," Peter shoots back, and then he seems to come to some kind of realization. "Because you've been there. You were with them, weren't you. When you were in Liv's shoes."

It's another extraordinary sight in a week full of them: Olivia Dunham, blushing. It's evidently enough of an answer for Peter, but Lincoln doesn't have the keys to their code.

At least Peter's quick with a translation. "Yeah," he says, eyes never leaving Olivia's face. "Remember what I told you, Lincoln, about Olivia being given Liv's memories in my timeline? So while she was there, she thought she was Liv."

"And yes," Olivia says, sounding defiant, "she was involved with Lincoln and Charlie. Her fiancé," she adds almost as an afterthought, "was out of town."

Peter snorts a little. "Small favors." His eyes narrow, and then he waves his hand like he's shooing away an unpleasant thought. "You know what? I think we should just agree that all previous indiscretions are in a different timeline and no longer relevant."

It's code again, and Lincoln is sick of being left out. Maybe in Peter's world people sit calmly on couches and discuss threesomes, but Lincoln is still trying to catch up with the chaos of the last few days and the way things between the three of them have fallen out. Unsettled, undefined, and that's--that's exactly the problem here.

"Not sure what I'm supposed to be agreeing to," Lincoln finally cuts in, more acerbic than he intends. Or maybe not nearly acerbic enough. "Obviously you two have some things to work out--"

"The three of us do," Peter interrupts, and Olivia nods her agreement. "You're just as much a part of this as we are."

Lincoln remembers thinking that Peter had presumed a lot in asking him to move into a house that wasn't his. That wasn't even the smallest part of Peter's nerve, apparently. But if they actually _mean_ it....

"Think I missed that memo," Lincoln manages, hating the uncertainty in his own voice. There are words that won't come out and emotions too big for words and he feels like they're all on the edge of a precipice. "Olivia, I...."

"Oh," she says, and crosses the room to him. Olivia kneels in front of the couch, her hands folding around his, which he hadn't realized were balled into fists. "Oh, Lincoln, I never said I love you and I should have, I--"

It's like a dam breaking as he leans down and kisses her, and kisses her, and she kisses him back. In between he's whispering the only words that matter, and she's whispering them back, and he can definitely be excused for the tears in his eyes because they're in Olivia's too.

Nothing in the world exists but her, except for the other man now standing at the edge of Lincoln's awareness. When they break apart Peter's smiling, the crinkles around his eyes attesting to his honest pleasure in watching them--along with an expression of dawning revelation. "Oh, hell, you guys hadn't-- shit, I wouldn't have joked. 'livia, Linc, I thought we were all on the same page."

"Same shelf, maybe," Lincoln says unsteadily, but he's finally hearing the foreshortened version of his name for the endearment it is, and thinking about the way Peter's been using it for weeks.

If there had been any question about Peter's feelings toward him, that kiss had answered them. But, Lincoln realizes almost ludicrously after the fact, there had never actually been a question. He'd been working with Peter, living with him, for just about the same length of time he'd been seeing Olivia. They ate together, sat on the couch and threw insults and Nerf bricks at the tv together, went shopping for groceries together. He'd never become indifferent to Peter's presence, not once, for all that they spent virtually every waking hour together.

Those hours not spent with Peter had been Olivia's, and he can't imagine life without either of them anymore.

Lincoln pulls Olivia up and onto his lap, because he can't stand not to be touching her. She goes willingly, settling in with a smile. "All this is well and good in theory, but...you're sure about this? Both of you?"

"Not sure about anything," Olivia says, and if he didn't love her already, Lincoln's smitten again by the fact that she doesn't conceal her own doubts.

Peter, predictably, doesn't share their hesitation. "We rewrote the _universe_ for each other, 'livia, I'm not scared of...one bespectacled nerd." Peter really is laughing now, deliberately provoking.

"Said nerd, sitting right here." Lincoln reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of Olivia's face. "I feel like...we just found each other. I don't know why I should share you with anyone." That's in the ballpark, but not exactly what he'd meant to say; it's not entirely his call, and Peter isn't just anyone.

Olivia tilts her head and considers Peter solemnly. "Well...he's not _too_ ugly," she offers, and it's her tone that makes the comment anything but outrageous.

Peter doesn't have any such reservation. "Oh, fuck you both." He leans in and kisses Olivia, inches away from Lincoln's face, and Lincoln's both astonished and delighted to discover that he's not feeling even the slightest jealous twinge. It's crazy and possibly might get them all evicted from polite society but it's not like polite society has anything to do with their line of work, anyway. Peter pulls back and adds, "Seriously, I want to fuck you both."

Olivia thwaps the back of his head. "And you kiss me with that mouth. No, wait. Kiss Lincoln with that mouth, I want to watch."

And Peter does with Olivia right there, stubble scratching at his split lip and Lincoln's going to have a permanent scar if this keeps up. He's breathless by the time Peter stops, and Olivia on his lap isn't helping. Or is, depending on your point of view. "Oh, hey, Peter."

"Yeah?"

"I like you too. A little bit."

Peter pauses and seems to think about that. "Good enough. For now. We'll work on it."

Olivia laughs again. "You guys. Like a comedy routine. Peter, come on, tell him how you feel."

Peter rolls his eyes. "I have to? He's wearing the glasses I bought for him. What did you think that was, Linc, a slap on the back?"

"Yeah, I got that," he says while Olivia shakes her head in mock disgust, but all banter aside what they're talking about hits him hard. "I-- you really think this can work? I, I see you two are meant to be together but I'm...."

The interloper, he doesn't say. He feels like he's about to dissolve into a very unmanly puddle when Peter rescues the moment, as he does. "You know, technically, you've probably dated Olivia longer than I did."

Olivia looks quizzical. "'Technically'?"

"Oh, it's story time. All right." Peter slides onto the couch next to Lincoln, pulling Olivia's legs over his lap and draping his arm around Lincoln's shoulders. "There was always something keeping us apart, remember?" Lincoln knows the recap is for his benefit, but that's fine; it'll give him a chance to find his equilibrium.

"I might recall," Olivia says dryly. "I had to chase you to the alternate universe to tell you I loved you. And then...."

"Then things got complicated," Peter says, and they exchange a glance full of meaning Lincoln still doesn't have the code to decipher. "When Olivia came back, there were... _things_ to work through." There's obviously a longer story there that neither of them wants to revisit. "So--Linc, seriously, it's like a comedy of errors--we make it through all that, and finally get together, and then...."

"William Bell," Olivia says, and groans.

"William Bell," Peter confirms, " _hijacked_ Olivia's consciousness from beyond the grave. --no, not a ghost, just a diabolical contingency plan," he adds to Lincoln's stare. "That was the same time I met you."

"The Dana Gray case," Lincoln murmurs, and everything snaps into place. He shifts Olivia on his lap, pulling her closer. "So _that's_ why you were so weird."

"No, Olivia's always weird." She sticks her tongue out at Peter, and he smirks. "But yeah, during that case you were talking to Bell, not her."

"And after he was gone and everything seemed like we might actually have some time for ourselves, that's when the machine fired up." Olivia's frowning slightly, like she's working it through. "You created the bridge room and between one second and the next, you were gone and everything had been rewritten. So I think you're right, Peter. We worked together for three years, but the time we were really together wasn't very much at all."

"Yeah. Except...I never got a chance to tell you about this." Peter takes her hands, and then after a moment reaches to gather Lincoln's in too. He tells her about the fifteen years, with enough detail that there's no doubting he lived it. Olivia pulls him close when he's done, her forehead touching his.

"We'll have that again."

"Better," Peter says firmly, drawing back to look into her eyes, and then Lincoln's. "Because this world isn't dying like that one was. But Lincoln, if you're thinking there isn't room for you...I promise, there is. I said I didn't want to lose you, and I meant it."

"Me too," Olivia says, and kisses Lincoln again. When she draws back, though, her eyes have gone wide. "How am I going to explain this to Rachel?"

Peter snorts."I'm sure Walter will have some wildly inappropriate commentary, too. But maybe we should hold off, at least until Lincoln looks a little less freaked out."

"Might take a while," Lincoln mutters, and tries to get his head in the right space. "This is _crazy,_ you both know that, right?"

Peter looks thoughtful. "Not so sure. I'm the last person to talk about fate...or maybe I should be the first. Depends how you look at it. But if you think your alternates really do mirror you in the ways that count...." he spreads his hands, like the point is self-evident.

"I'm not so sure about _that,_ " Olivia says, her expression indecipherable. "But I saw how happy they were and I just... I can't..." she stops, looking almost embarrassed, then goes on. "I don't want to choose between you."

"I don't want you to, either," Lincoln says, and not only because he's still convinced--despite Olivia's and Peter's assurances--that he'd end up with the short end of that stick. Maybe they can convince him otherwise, in time. But right now it's--

He glances at the clock and nearly laughs out loud: 3:15 p.m., and time seems to have slowed to a crawl. But this time, for entirely different reasons. And he hasn't yet made his opinion clear. "I said it was crazy. But I want to try anyway. I think...." he looks at Olivia on his lap, Peter warm against his side. "We got here through alternate timelines and alternate universes, and that can't be an accident. I think this is where we're meant to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If you question what I would do  
>  to get over and be with you  
> lift you up over everything  
> to light up my room_  
> \-- Barenaked Ladies
> 
> The book cover: _Firestarter_ by Stephen King, of course.
> 
> I found the likely site of the Ohio Cortexiphan trials (Nina: "Doctor Bell conducted the trials himself at Ohio State University, Wooster Campus"): http://oardc.osu.edu/mcic/
> 
> Looking up information about smallpox gave me the serious heebie-jeebies. You're welcome. (It was also a great excuse to read [Pathogenesis and Intervention by shallot](http://www.intimations.org/fanfic/house/pathogenesis.html) again.) There is currently no significant treatment for the disease, but I speculate that the alternate universe's scientists have developed one considering they've been dealing with constant outbreaks.
> 
> [BioWatch](http://www.fas.org/sgp/crs/terror/RL32152.html): Massive Dynamic, of course, has the instant detection version installed.
> 
> ...I wrote a PG-rated threesome fic. heh! A couple of outtakes, including a smutty one, to follow. Also a DVD-commentary version, just because.


	2. Outtake: Smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This remains an outtake because the mood and/or tone might not perfectly fit the scene it flows from...but it's what they gave me.
> 
>  **Rating:** Explicit.

"Awesome. So now that that's settled...." Peter looks at the two of them expectantly.

Olivia laughs softly, while Lincoln's heart rate takes a quick jump into the stratosphere. There's an _obvious_ next move, and not the least part of their brand-new...arrangement. "So you want to seal it with a kiss?"

"I think he's suggesting something considerably more involved than a kiss." Olivia's smile is wider now, daring them both.

Peter groans. "Maybe you two have been going at it like rabbits, but I've been celibate for months and that sucks."

Olivia smirks. "Aww, Peter. Feeling a little frustrated?"

"Not a little." There's a dangerous light in his eye, now. "But you'd be surprised at what I missed the most."

Olivia tilts her head to look up into Lincoln's face. "I think he's bluffing."

"All talk, no action," Lincoln agrees, and laughs as Peter actually _growls._

"I'm done talking." Peter reaches down and starts undoing the button and zipper on Olivia's pants. He maneuvers to slide down to kneel on the floor and in short order he's got her naked from the waist down and he's right there between her legs.

"Spread for me, sweetheart," Peter commands, and Olivia hooks one leg over the opposite arm of the couch and draws Lincoln down to kiss her. He _feels_ it when Peter touches her, her whole body tensing and then a faint sigh escaping from her mouth into his.

He's going slowly, Lincoln can tell, having mapped Olivia's responses under his own mouth. She squirms into a more comfortable position, her legs falling wider apart. Olivia moans as Peter takes advantage of the shift to lick deeper, and her eyes flutter open to lock with Lincoln's gaze. He's got an arm around her head to keep her propped up and his erection is pressing into her back, but for right now he just wants to watch her face as her eyes dilate and she flushes with pleasure.

He frees up a hand to run a finger over her lips, and Olivia licks at it, then nips with gentle teeth. It's faintly ridiculous that she's still wearing anything, so with some moderately clumsy choreography he manages to get her sweatshirt over her head and off. Lincoln manages her bra one-handed, an accomplishment which he'd be fairly proud of if Peter hadn't taken all Olivia's wriggling in stride, not missing a single beat.

She's so incredibly beautiful, lying naked across him, her breath coming in pants now. Olivia's hips start to thrust up toward Peter's mouth, gently at first and then with more urgency. Lincoln runs the pad of his thumb over her breasts, feeling her nipples respond to his touch, but it's Olivia's eyes still meeting his that are really holding all of Lincoln's attention. He watches her tremble and arch up and when she comes, her hand reaches to touch his face like he's the one responsible for her pleasure, when he's barely touched her at all.

When she's settled back Peter crawls up her body and leans up to kiss him, Olivia's taste on his tongue and it's easily the hottest, dirtiest thing Lincoln's ever done. He gets the feeling there's going to be a lot of that in his immediate future.

"He's really good at that." Olivia's voice is lazy, satisfied, turning to wicked. "You should try it."

Lincoln feels himself go hot, the blush probably smeared all across his face. It's _embarrassing,_ but he needs to get this out in the open. "Uh. You know, I haven't been with a guy since-- since college." He'd been honest during the qualifying FBI investigation, but there hadn't been all that much to be honest about.

"Oh, _really._ " Peter's look has turned almost...predatory. "So I get to break you in again? I can't wait."

Olivia levels her gaze at him. "And how long's it been for you, hm?"

Peter leans back, smirking. "Well, there were all those years before we met, and those first couple of months when you weren't being that friendly, I had to find my own fun. But speaking of my own fun...."

Olivia doesn't say anything, just holds her arms out, and Peter surges forward to kiss her, one hand tugging frantically to undo his jeans. Lincoln's trapped under the two of them but that's all right; he's still with them, and Peter and Olivia have certainly earned their moment. Olivia throws her head back and cries out when Peter slides into her, and they begin to move together, momentarily heedless of Lincoln's presence.

But only for a moment. Even with his full attention on Olivia, Peter reaches a blind arm out for Lincoln, and then Olivia's fingers wind their way into the tangle of their hands. Peter's whispering into Olivia's ear, words Lincoln can't quite hear. It's awkward and maybe not the reunion they really deserve, although neither of them looks inclined to complain. Lincoln isn't, either, because they really are--they really are beautiful together, and obviously meant to be.

It's not long before Peter groans and buries his face in Olivia's chest, while she strokes at the back of his neck with her free hand. They lie still for a few moments, until Lincoln starts feeling like he really needs to move. He wouldn't mind being used as a bed, but his legs are starting to fall asleep. He stretches out his arms and feigns a yawn. "Well, this has been fun, but...."

Olivia and Peter both laugh, still locked together, and Olivia looks up at him past Peter's head. "He's been so _patient._ "

"Definitely deserves some reward," Peter agrees, and gasps a little as he disengages. He glances around, then grabs Olivia's discarded sweatshirt to use as an impromptu towel, ignoring her glare. She doesn't complain, either, when he runs the fabric between her legs.

Peter stands up and casually strips off the rest of his clothes. He helps Olivia (obviously humoring him) to her feet, and they both reach out a hand to Lincoln at the same time. They pull him up and through some unspoken communication Lincoln ends up standing between them. Olivia smiles into his eyes as she begins undoing his pants, while Peter nimbly unbuttons his shirt from behind.

"You talk, Peter," Olivia says, her voice husky. "I'll be busy." She sinks to her knees, hands trailing down his legs as she goes.

"I wondered," Peter says in an offhanded tone, which is always a warning sign.

"You, uh," Lincoln tries, but Olivia's running her tongue over his cock and words stop forming in his brain.

"Yeah." Peter's voice is low and dirty in his ear. "At the house, all those movie nights. I wondered if afterward you were jerking off in your room. I wanted to barge in and lend a hand."

Olivia laughs, her breath huffing across his groin, and Lincoln would laugh too except he can't seem to find the air.

"We'd be sitting on the couch just a little too close and I wanted to get my mouth on you, like Olivia's doing now. Rain check on that, by the way, at your earliest convenience."

Lincoln groans and lets his head fall back against Peter's shoulder. Peter takes that as a signal to continue, his hands coming around to stroke at Lincoln's chest and stomach.

"And then you started staying over here and I didn't have anything to do but try to go blind, thinking about what you two were doing together. I wondered if you'd learned how to touch her, if you knew that Olivia's breasts are most sensitive in the morning, and that sometimes she likes it from behind. I wondered if you knew that massaging her feet just right gets her so hot she'll practically beg for you to fuck her."

Olivia's mouth tightens around him, like she's agreeing, and Lincoln is very, very glad for Peter's broad solid strength at his back, keeping him from falling over.

"I wondered if you'd gotten comfortable enough to let Olivia fuck _you,_ Linc. I kind of hope she hasn't, because the thought of getting at your ass first is pretty exciting, let me tell you." Peter grinds into him for emphasis, not hard again yet but not far off. "And I'll be happy to reciprocate. Whatever you--"

Between Olivia's mouth and Peter's voice the orgasm hits Lincoln like a freight train, and it really is only Peter's arm around his chest that keeps him from toppling. After a moment Olivia stands and leans past Lincoln to kiss Peter, and Peter manages to leer at him as he's licking his way into Olivia's mouth.

Lincoln coughs a little, clearing his throat. "So that was...pretty successful. As experiments go."

Peter shakes his head. "You've been working in the lab and haven't learned a thing. Real experiments require thorough testing before any hypothesis can be proven. Lots...and lots...of testing."

"Subtle." Olivia smacks Peter's arm, and then leans into the two of them. "I think given everything we've been through, we deserve a vacation. The three of us."

"You saved the world. I'm pretty sure Broyles will sign off on that." Lincoln kisses her temple and hooks his arm around Peter's waist. "Anywhere in particular?"

"Peter's the world traveler, he should plan it." Peter nods his assent as Olivia continues, "Just make sure there's a shower big enough. Mine isn't going to do anymore."

Peter tilts his head. "We could retrofit the house. Master bathroom needs an upgrade anyway."

Olivia laughs suddenly. "I've already had one too-close encounter with your father's naked Tuesday habit. I'd really rather not risk another."

"'Naked'-- okay, not asking." Lincoln hugs them both closer. "But, uh, for right now, not to break the mood or anything, but I'm _starving._ "

"No wonder," Peter says with a smirk, and oh, he should have seen this one coming, "you're the only one who didn't eat."

"Mutual rain check," Lincoln tells him, and leans in for a kiss, tasting Olivia, tasting himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone, I beg of you, write the follow-up with Olivia on a beach wearing a bikini and the guys tearing it off of her and so much sex, omg.


	3. Outtake: Olivia on the Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Olivia vanished from the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to samjohnsson for double-duty beta, both for the first pass and then a second when I decided to recast in past tense for no particular reason.
> 
> (This, predictably, impinges on _Quantum Entanglements_ territory, but it's me, that was probably inevitable. ;) What, give up a chance to write these two in the same place? NOT EVER.)

Olivia stumbled, nearly fell, and threw her hand out for balance. Her fingertips brushed against a cold hard surface, slick like glass but strong, and she leaned against it, fighting nausea. Her hair swung down around her face, her eyes tightly closed, as she fought for equilibrium.

She'd gone over to the house, knowing she couldn't leave things so unsettled with both Lincoln and Peter, and quietly used her key, expecting to find them both on the couch. The living room was empty, so she followed the sound of running water to the kitchen. The sound cut out a moment before she rounded the doorway and when she turned the corner, she saw--

"Are you al'ight, ma'am?"

A stern voice, hard and suspicious, with that distinctive broad Boston accent. Olivia turned her head and cracked her eyes open enough to see a cop car on the street and the backlit outline of a man getting out. There were no other lights on the street other than those flashing from his car, and as Olivia straightened she realized what she'd been leaning against: the hard surface of an Amber enclosure that stretched as far as she could see. She was nowhere near the house that she could recognize, which meant that somehow, thank God, when she'd..."jumped" over, the power granted by the Cortexiphan hadn't dropped her in the middle of the quarantined area. There were houses inside, she now saw, and if she squinted, she might even spot faint human-sized shadows deeper in.

Olivia swallowed hard and turned away, looking at the police officer and trying to project confidence. She couldn't flash her badge here, but she could use her FBI tone of voice and preempt his questions. "I'm...all right, officer. But I need you to call Fringe Division and--"

His eyes flared with alarm and no wonder; where she stood was unsettling as hell. "--ask for Captain Lincoln Lee. Tell him that Olivia Dunham is here."

***

It took a far shorter time than she'd expected before a black SUV rolled up at the police station. The cop had insisted on taking her in, especially when she couldn't produce a Show-Me, and Olivia hadn't argued. Standing on the street next to all that Amber wouldn't have been her first choice, either. But he hadn't thrown her in a cell, just put her in the waiting area where he could keep an eye on her, and even gotten her a sorely needed cup of hot tea.

Captain Lee strode in, all spiky hair and swagger, and everyone in the station seemed to watch him with considerable trepidation. Olivia understood: a Fringe agent on the scene was never, ever a good sign for anyone on this side. He walked over to her, his expression carefully professional, and Olivia had to guard her own because all of _those_ memories had returned, too. "Olivia. You-- you're all right?"

"I'm okay," she said, which was at least half obfuscation. "I think Officer Kelly would be willing to remand me into your custody."

He tossed her an indecipherable look--or no, she probably could've translated it if she tried, given what she knew, but her head still ached too much for the effort--and turned to sort out the jurisdictional tangle. Kelly seemed all too happy to turn her over to Fringe Division, and in short order she was walking back outside and climbing into the giant car. "Buckle up," Lee said, and that was all for the drive back to Division.

It was late enough that the night shift had come on. Over here, this building never closed for the night like the FBI version did; the constant threat of vortexes demanded constant monitoring. Lee ushered her into a conference room, closed the door, and threw himself into one of the leather chairs, all his calm authority dismissed in one motion. "Got a million questions, but--you talk first."

Olivia took a moment, trying to put her thoughts in order. "Well, I, uh, crossed over--teleported--whatever you want to call it, without meaning to. I...was surprised by something. Thank you for coming to get me, by the way," she added, hoping to deflect the obvious question.

Lee was watching her closely. "Yeah, I was pretty surprised myself to get a call to retrieve an Olivia Dunham, considering I was with Liv at the time," he said, and something about the way he said it caught her attention. He continued, "But I figured it'd be better to sort this all out before anyone else got involved."

She heard "Secretary Bishop" in that "anyone else" and nodded, grateful. "It really was an accident. All those powers from the--the other timeline seem to be coming back."

"The other timeline," Lee said softly, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Olivia broke the gaze first, not without effort. He was nothing like Lincoln at all, not really, but she remembered-- she remembered--

He obviously remembered, too. "It was really awful, when Charlie and I realized that Liv had been replaced and we, uh, we didn't know. I guess it must've been even more awful for you."

It was half question and half apology, she realized. "I can't say-- yes, it was," Olivia said, giving up the attempt to be diplomatic about having her personality, her _life,_ overwritten by another woman's memories. "But you and Charlie don't have anything to be sorry about. You couldn't have known. And you didn't, uh, hurt me." Quite the opposite, she thought, but bit her tongue to keep from saying.

Lee let out an explosive breath, something between a laugh and a groan. "Didn't think we had, not that way, but you didn't exactly agree to be there."

It's _bizarre,_ Olivia thought, to be the one reassuring him, considering she was the victim here. But then he was too, in a way. "Lee-- Lincoln," she started, but he interrupted.

"Call me Lee, would you? I know it's what your team does, and it'll just be easier."

She couldn't resist arching an eyebrow at him. "What does your team call me?"

"Better you don't know," he muttered, ducking his head, and Olivia laughed. It had to be an unflattering nickname, something like Walter's "Fauxlivia" designation given in reverse, and yeah, she really didn't want to know. 

Lee grinned at her and Olivia felt a knot in her chest start to loosen. "Lee, honestly, I don't hold you responsible and I'm not angry at you. Would you tell Charlie that, too?"

"'course." He got up and stretched, then wandered over to the sideboard that held an assortment of pitchers and glasses. "Something to drink? Eat? I can--"

"That noodle place still deliver late?" Olivia interrupted this time, because she was starving all of a sudden. She'd barely eaten in the last couple of days, she realized, and apparently jumping from one universe to another really worked up an appetite.

Lee laughed. "Got 'em on speed dial. You still order the same?" Olivia nodded, and he tapped his cuff to call it in. "Won't be long, they give our orders priority."

"I remember." Olivia walked over to examine the assortment of random decanters and mugs, then started to fix herself another strong cup of tea. It's just as well they didn't have coffee, she'd drunk enough lately to float a whole fleet. After a second's thought she scrounged under the cabinet for the painkillers she knew were stocked there and dry-swallowed three, not waiting for the tea to cool.

"Let's get one thing clear," Lee said, his voice turning serious. "I'm not comfortable keeping your presence here a secret. Aside from the security issue, I have a responsibility to report any unusual activity. And besides," he added, "Officer Kelly's call was logged and recorded. I took charge on the call, but I'll need to explain it later."

Olivia turned to him, nodding. "I understand. I wouldn't want you to lie for me."

Lee went very still. "I...feel like I should say that I would. It's--it's all tangled up in my head, you and Liv, and I'm still trying to get a handle on everything I remember."

"Me too," Olivia murmured, but it wasn't what happened over here with Lee she was thinking about, but Peter. Peter and Lincoln and all of her feelings about them, for them both, crashing together in her head and her heart. And she had, she realized, the attention of one of the few people in either universe she could talk to about all of it. "Lee, I really...I'd really like to talk to you about something personal. It's part of what made me cross over and I could use your-- your perspective."

He glanced at her face and that seemed to decide for him. "Sure. Let me just tell Charlie and Liv I'll be delayed." He tapped his cuff and talked into the air, smiling. "Hey, Charlie. I'm with our, uh, our friend and everything's all right. More than all right, I'll tell you when I get home." He listened for a moment and then laughed. "Yeah, no, not happening. Meet you guys later." 

There was open affection in his voice, more than Olivia remembered hearing anywhere but Lee's apartment, after missions. Lee caught her curious look and his face broke into a joyful, still somewhat amazed smile. "Yeah, speaking of personal. When we remembered everything, it was just-- so much to process, but me and Liv and Charlie, we worked through it together, like we always did. Remembering that was the only thing that kept us from going bugfuck nuts. Not Mona, not Frank, just the three of us." Lee sounded like he wants to be remorseful about that, but his face wasn't letting him. 

Olivia held her tongue, letting him tell what he so clearly wanted to share. "Charlie moved out of his place, and he and Mona are splitting up. Frank..." he hesitated. "Liv's in kind of bad shape."

She couldn't...she couldn't think about that rationally, not even a little. "I'm sorry to hear that," Olivia said as evenly as she could, and Lee tossed her a sharp glance. 

"I get why you're angry at her. I-- let's just skip that, okay? Upshot is, Frank was upset enough to leave too, and she's over at my apartment with Charlie now. That's where I was when I got the call for you." Despite his obvious worry, Lee's joy was palpable. "We're really going to try to make it work, the three of us, not just after missions."

"I'm happy for you," Olivia said softly, meaning it, because despite everything _she_ remembered being happy when she was over here, with Lee and Charlie, and they both deserved that.

"Thanks." He was quiet for a moment, fixing his own mug. "So you wanted to talk about something? Might as well, calling to open the bridge at this time of night would raise all kinds of flags."

Which reminded her of something else, actually. "Would you-- I'd really appreciate it if you'd thank Colonel Broyles for me. For all he did."

Lee turned to her, his eyes going wide. "Oh, yeah, _he's_ got some stuff to process, too. Took a leave of absence, actually, and left me as acting head of division, which is why your call didn't go any further than me. But he-- you know, he remembered being _shot._ "

"I know," Olivia said, her throat clenching tight. "We found his body on our side. I'm just-- of everything, I'm the most glad his death didn't happen here."

"We are too," Lee said fervently. "He'll be okay once he sorts it through. But hey, we got the note on the telegraph that you guys had stopped Jones, how'd that shake out?"

Olivia thought for a moment before she answered. "Complicated." She took her time explaining, stopping to eat when the food arrived halfway through the story. Lee winced when she told him about how she'd killed Jones--evoking a particularly horrific returned memory, for him--but listened attentively until the end.

"Incredible." He looked thoughtful as he took their empty cups and returned to the sideboard. "So you think it was getting your abilities back that made us all remember again?"

"I think that was the trigger, but I don't know why," Olivia said, hesitating. "Peter coming back was the start of it, obviously."

Lee nodded, crossing back over to her with her refilled mug, this time full of steaming cocoa. Olivia took the cup and inhaled, grateful for the warming comfort of the scent. "I'm guessing Peter being back is part of what you really wanted to talk about."

She glanced at him, realizing that he'd sidetracked the conversation until she was more settled. "Yeah. I've been seeing Lincoln on my side..." she paused as Lee's face erupted in a huge, ridiculous grin. "What?"

"It was obvious he was so completely into you when we had that bridge meeting." He smirked and added, "And tell him he shouldn't think I didn't notice him checking me out."

"You weren't subtle, either," she said dryly, and Lee shrugged.

"Wasn't trying to be. So you've been seeing him, terrific. Feel free to share as many personal details as you want. Intimate details," he suggested, looking hopeful as he leaned against the table.

Olivia laughed because now that she remembered Lee more clearly, she remembered his casual irreverence, and the comment was just so... _him._ "You keep dreaming that dream."

"Spoilsport." Lee motioned for her to go on. "So you've been seeing my buttoned-up double...."

"Not so buttoned up, once you get to know him," Olivia murmured, and Lee chuckled appreciatively. "Things were good, with us. Not _easy,_ because of everything else going on, but good. And then...." she stopped, still overwhelmed by the two timelines in her mind. 

"You remembered being with Peter," Lee said softly.

Olivia nodded, feeling the knot in her chest again. "I know you never met him, but he'd been working with me since the beginning of my involvement with Fringe Division and he...helped. Not just with the cases. With me, learning to trust again. Remembering what it felt like to love someone."

Lee was smiling at her, but she wasn't done. "--that's why we came over, Walter and Nick and Sally and I, to bring him back. Partly because we were afraid of what Walternate would do with the machine," Olivia heard Lee snicker at the nickname but didn't pause, "but mostly because I...I needed him to know that I loved him, that he should come back and be with me."

"I wanted to ask about your Nick," Lee said, his expression truly indecipherable this time, "but go on, we can talk about that later."

"Anyway, after I got back we'd finally gotten to a place where we could be together, and then the machine fired up, and I _forgot_ him." Olivia rubbed at her face, feeling ashamed. "After everything we went through, how could I have done that?"

Lee's face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. "Everyone did, from what I gather," he said slowly, "so despite all your super-powers, you didn't get to be the exception about that. Something, you know, _cosmic_ going on there." He shrugged to her exasperated look. "Read too many comics as a kid, I put it in terms I know."

It might be comic-book science, but that didn't mean it couldn't be true. "You...might be right," she mused, thinking about the Observer's appearance in the lab. They'd never discovered anything concrete about the pale man, aside from his seemingly identical appearance in pictures at significant events back through recorded history. But that was a mystery for another day, when her head isn't full of two other men. "But however it happened I remember everything that happened between us, how happy we were. And at the same time, how happy I've been the last few months, with Lincoln." She bit at her lip, slumping back in the chair. "And if that's not complicated enough, when I went by their place to talk to them...." she trailed off, because it'd been so-- _unexpected,_ she still couldn't wrap her head around it.

Lee hunched forward, his attention focused, like she was relating spoilers for his favorite soap opera. In a way, she supposed she was. "C'mon, Olivia, don't leave me in suspense."

She took a deep breath and said it cold. "I walked in and found them kissing."

Lee stared at her for a moment, and then burst into huge gales of laughter. "Oh...oh, that is just--" he swallowed whatever his next words were going to be, chuckling. "At least no one was bent over a table, right?"

"Lee!" she exclaimed, feeling her face flame, and-- _seeing_ that image in her mind's eye. It took her breath away, and reminded Olivia that in that moment she'd looked into the kitchen, she'd been shocked and startled and caught completely off guard...and not a little fascinated, in that moment before the world slid away from under her feet. "I just... I never thought--"

"What, that they were into each other too?" Lee pushed off from the table and stretched his back. "It's pretty quiet around here, safe enough to take a walk, if you want to stretch your legs."

Olivia nodded, grateful again for the chance to regain a little bit of composure. They walked past empty conference rooms, circling the large monitor room with its thankfully quiet screens. Olivia didn't need a map to know the building's layout; she could see it in her mind's eye, with Liv's borrowed memories. 

"Like you said," Lee said after a few minutes, "I don't know Peter at all, but if Lincoln's like me even a little...he's pretty, uh, _flexible._ " He shrugged to her sharp look. "Just saying."

"I-- I guess." It wasn't something they'd ever talked about, but when Olivia thinks back, she can see it. It isn't that he'd hidden anything from her, they just hadn't...reached the point of that kind of discussion, she supposed. She hadn't talked much about John, either. Maybe it was just because things over the last few months had been so strange, they'd kept their discussions focused on the present. Maybe Lincoln hadn't been sure of how she'd react, or maybe he'd felt the topic just wasn't relevant enough to bring up. And she knew there were things Peter and she had simply never gotten around to discussing, either.

"So here's the really important question: You think they've been--"

"No," Olivia said without a second's thought, and when she took a moment to actually consider the notion, she knew her first impulse was true. "Lincoln wouldn't do that to me. And Peter, until this happened he was focused on trying to get back to 'his' Olivia. He thought he'd come back into a different universe, because our timeline was different, and he needed to find a way to get back to his own."

Lee stopped walking, looking fascinated. "Like--there might be more out there than our two universes?"

It was really more Walter's territory than hers. "In theory. But as far as we know there's just our two, and history was...changed retroactively in both when Peter vanished. 

" _Cosmic,_ " Lee said again, with a meaningful look. "But you said 'their place,' they have an apartment?"

"A house," Olivia said, "Walter's old house on campus. It made sense for Lincoln to move in, he was new to Boston, and Broyles wanted someone to keep an eye on Peter."

Lee nodded. "Okay, so roommates. And friends?"

"Yeah. Good friends."

"So it sounds like they had some UST going on and--"

"U-S-what?"

"Unresolved Sexual Tension," Lee said, and cracked up to Olivia's bewildered look. "Trust me, it's a thing. But the memories came back and suddenly the three of you were in a whole new incredibly stressful situation, and--well, things happen under stress."

It was a great explanation, and it felt right, and she supposed that if anyone would have a pretty damn good guess about Lincoln's state of mind, it's this man. "I was just so...surprised," she muttered, although that was really an understatement.

"Enough to throw you into another universe, yeah, I'd say so," Lee agreed, mirroring her thought. "And on top of your feelings about both of them, now you've got this other dynamic to deal with."

"Yes." Olivia leaned against the nearest convenient wall, rubbing at her eyes. "Turns out, my love life is always a mess. In any timeline."

"Hey." She opened her eyes to see Lee looking at her, concerned, his arm half-extended like he'd meant to touch her and then reconsidered. "It's complicated, but not a disaster."

Despite the lateness and the tension, Olivia couldn't help but laugh. "Not completely, anyway."

Lee gave her a self-deprecating smile. "You know what I mean. It's kind of funny--" he stopped, visibly swallowing his next words. 

Olivia really wasn't in a mood to be placated. "What is?"

He hesitated, looking uncertain. "I-- don't hit me. But you remember what it was like, with me and Charlie, right? Aside from the, you know, surrounding circumstances..." he waved a hand to dismiss the kidnapping, the brainwashing, all in one motion. "It wasn't so terrible, right?"

She stared at him for a long moment, long enough that she could see him start to regret the comment. But she could already see where this conversation might be headed and there was _no way_ she was going to do it without fortification. "I'm not going to answer that--"

Lee put his hand up in capitulation, maybe even apology, but she wasn't done yet. "--without a really strong drink. Or two."

He looked startled, and then broke into a laugh. "That's-- that's completely fair. Colonel Broyles keeps the good stuff in his office. I'm sure he won't mind sharing in the name of...interdimensional relations."

"That's what we're calling it now?" Olivia said dryly, and Lee laughed again.

"It's as good an excuse as any. C'mon, Olivia, it'll be all right."

She wasn't anywhere near as certain, but it was impossible to argue in the face of Lee's certainty. Olivia was pretty sure about what he was going to suggest and the conversation was bound to be interesting, at the very least. If her experiences over here somehow turned out to be a kind of precursor, a foundation for a new possibility...it couldn't be any less improbable than anything else she'd encountered. 

If nothing else, it'd be irresponsible to give the suggestion anything less than her full consideration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I get why you're angry at her. I-- let's just skip that, okay?" -- WATCH ME DODGE A GIANT PLOT BULLET. Because Olivia didn't know about baby Henry--neither did Peter, for that matter--and I totally did not want to get anywhere near explaining all of that.


	4. Outtake: Two Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schmoooop. (+ 2 years. Walter gave them the house.)

Peter arranged for the rings. The jeweler, selected for discretion, hadn't blinked at the request for one woman's ring and two men's rings in different sizes. They'd chosen a simple design, three braided lines on the outside and a simple inscription around the inside that speaks for all of them: _You belong with me._

Olivia bought a simple dress, a deep blue because they both love seeing her in blue and white would be farce at this point, but Lincoln's gone full-out for the tux.

"I'm only going to do this once. I want to do it right."

Peter laughs in his ear and readjusts Lincoln's tie for the fifth time, after he's fidgeted it out of alignment yet again. "Why're you so nervous? Not having second thoughts, right?"

"Never," Lincoln says, because he hasn't, not one. "I just wish...."

But Peter already knows what he wishes, and waves the concern away. "We talked about this. I'm an unperson twice over in this universe. And I remember being married to Olivia, so it's only fair this is your turn."

"His turn at what?" Olivia says from the doorway, and they both turn to see her. She still takes his breath away, and Peter's too, judging by the small sound Lincoln catches at the edge of his hearing.

Peter, of course, answers first with a wolf whistle. "Marrying you. But I'm glad we didn't keep to the 'don't see the bride before the wedding' tradition. I think we'd both have passed out at the nonexistent altar."

Olivia rolls her eyes at him, smiling as she comes forward. "We haven't done a traditional thing yet. I don't know why we'd start now." She reaches out and they both take her hands. "You guys ready? Walter is looking like he wants to throw himself bodily at the cake and I don't think it's an idle threat."

"Yeah, let's not chance that." Peter brings their entwined hands to his lips. "Love you both. Now c'mon, let's go get you married."

"Let's go get _us_ married," Lincoln corrects, "no matter what it says on the certificate."

Peter just taps his foot impatiently. "You realize that every second you delay, that's one second away from all the awesome honeymoon sex we're gonna have."

"Pushy," Olivia and Lincoln say together, and Lincoln grins at her as he lets Peter shove him out the door.

They really have skipped out on all the traditional adornments: no aisle, no altar, not a flower bouquet in sight. Just their house and space for their closest friends, the ones who know the truth. Astrid is the unofficial maid of honor, her duties mostly having consisted of one apparently truly outrageous bachelorette party. Lincoln's pretty sure he's never going to hear all the details of that night, and that's okay; he and Peter are mutually sworn to secrecy about their stag party.

It took some special red-tape cutting to get all the guests in attendance, especially the ones from another universe. That was Broyles' first gift to them; his second, at Olivia's request, is his appearance on her arm, walking with her from the bedroom and down the stairs to the cleared circle at the center of the living room. Phillip has been very careful not to "know" what they're really up to, and out of respect for his position they've tried to be publicly discreet. But here, today, there are no secrets.

"Hey," Lee stage-whispers to Lincoln and Peter as they watch Olivia approach, "that offer's always open."

Charlie steps very precisely on Lee's foot. "Not now, you degenerate."

Liv chuckles, then covers her mouth in an attempt at decorum. Just in time, because Walter's drawn himself up in his best official posture and looks ready to swat anyone who interrupts. Or maybe offer them all some homemade LSD for old times' sake. (Lincoln made sure that Peter checked the refreshments. Twice.)

Phillip relinquishes Olivia's arm to Lincoln and they both smile at him before turning to face Walter. Peter's right next to them in the position of best man, a description more apt than convention intends.

"We are here today," Walter says with abundant gravity, "to see two souls joined together. I'm very happy to officiate at the marriage of these two lovely people, Olivia Marie Dunham and Lincoln Tyrone Lee, even though I don't know why Olivia's not marrying my son--"

"Walter," Peter growls, and Walter sighs.

"Oh, yes, all right. We have learned, all of us here, that love persists beyond time and distance. None of you need me to tell you this, or require a piece of certified paper to confirm it. But as a symbol we are thankful to Olivia and Lincoln for letting us share in this moment, as they declare what they know, beyond words, to be true."

It's actually-- it's actually poignant enough that Lincoln finds himself blinking, as he turns to Olivia. They're standing so they can both see Peter, including him in their words.

Olivia’s radiant today, incandescent in her joy. When she takes his hands the room briefly narrows to the two of them, and Lincoln thinks that Peter won’t begrudge them that; he’s given them so much else. “Lincoln...I spent so long alone, believing that I was incapable of truly loving someone. You helped me do the hardest thing I’ve ever done, let myself be open to trust and to love. You helped me realize that all the joy we have in this world is what we make for ourselves.” Her eyes are all of his world. “I love you.”

The next time Olivia claims she’s bad at putting her emotions into words, Lincoln’s going to remind her of this day and laugh. Once he can remember her words without a lump in this throat and tears in his eyes, which might very well be never.

Olivia takes the ring from Peter, and Lincoln sees her caress his hand before she turns back to slip it onto Lincoln’s finger.

It takes him a moment to find his own voice. “Olivia...I spent so long looking for answers, before I even knew the right questions. You gave me something I never thought I’d have again, a family and a home. You tethered me to the world and gave me a place to belong.” Olivia is wearing that smile that means she’s a moment away from tears. It’s a cliché to think he’s never loved her more, but it’s as true as always: every moment he loves her more. “I love you.”

He reaches out blindly to take the second ring from Peter, and nearly fumbles it before Peter catches his hand firmly and puts the ring in the center of his palm. Lincoln squeezes his hand and manages to slide the ring onto Olivia’s finger before he drops it, although it’s a near thing, the way his hands are trembling.

“Oh, my. That was lovely,” Walter says, and sniffles a little into a handkerchief before he continues. "If I may say, Olivia, you should know I still think of you like a daughter-in-law." He pauses. "And you, Lincoln, like a...nephew."

Peter's face is in his hands, but Lincoln just smiles. "Thank you, Walter."

"And so! By the authority vested in me by the INTERNET," Walter bellows, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss-- oh, too late."

Olivia giggles even as she's kissing him and that's perfect, that's the way it should always be. When they break apart Peter's right there, brushing a kiss over Olivia's cheek and then Lincoln's with appropriate restraint, even though out of the corner of his eye Lincoln can see Lee obviously still hoping for a spontaneous orgy to break out.

Astrid takes over, as they'd orchestrated. "Olivia, Lincoln, and their best man are going to attend to some details, and will be out again shortly." Liv takes the initiative and preemptively stomps on Lee's foot this time, probably forestalling some obscenity about "details." Astrid continues with a smile, "Please help yourself to the refreshments, which have been Walter-proofed for your safety."

The three of them retreat back to the bedroom for the rest of their ceremony. The moment the door closes Olivia is in Peter's arms, kissing him with postponed fervor. There are still things between them that Lincoln knows he'll never share, but he came to terms with that long ago.

Olivia draws back to examine Peter's face. "I like you. You wanna hook up?"

Peter gasps in mock outrage. "Olivia Dunham. You're a married woman now. What kind of man do you think I am?"

"The kind who'll sleep with a married woman and her husband, because you've got no morals whatsoever." Lincoln puts his arms around Olivia, around his _wife,_ God, he still can't believe this is true.

Peter gives him a hurt look. "I do so. Just not where you two and sex intersect. But are you gonna leave me hanging here, or what?"

Lincoln grins and pulls the third ring out of his pocket. "Just making sure you really wanted it." Olivia reaches over and together, they guide the ring onto Peter's finger. "With absolutely no authority whatsoever, we now pronounce you ours."

"Yours," Peter murmurs, serious for once, and leans into their space to hold them both close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, 4x17 gave me a middle name for Lincoln--and the words I needed to finish the vows. Small blessing?
> 
> This fic universe remains open to anyone who'd care to play in it. I'd be delighted. :)


	5. Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A much-deserved vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for trope_bingo 2013: day at the beach.
> 
> At the end of LYUOE I commented that I wanted to see the follow-up with Olivia on a beach wearing a bikini and the guys tearing it off of her. Rainer wrote in response: "I can imagine Olivia on the beach, propped up on her elbows, one thigh arched with her toes digging into the sand, sunglasses wide on her face. She's languid, loose with the heat, sweat slicking her stomach as she watches Lincoln step out of the shallows."

Olivia never really had much use for vacation, before. There was always another case, and at least for the past few years, those cases demanded the specific intervention of Fringe Division. Just a handful of people, barely holding chaos at bay; it seemed irresponsible to leave when the next potentially world-ending disaster might erupt at any moment.

Now, lying in the sun felt like the universe's belated compensation for shapeshifters and alternate timelines and all manner of Fringe-related horrors. They'd earned a few days of peace, at least.

Peter had arranged all the details, leaving Olivia and Lincoln to wonder at their destination. "Pack light," he'd said. "Swimsuits optional." 

Olivia chose the better part of discretion and packed hers anyway. She appreciated Peter's intent, but he wasn't the one with a tendency to burn in sensitive places. Safely covered in sunscreen and shaded by an umbrella, she watched Peter and Lincoln roughhousing in the water. The play was at least half an excuse to get their hands on each other...as if any of them need an excuse, anymore. 

It was early days yet, and nothing was certain. Olivia knew how difficult it was to make a relationship last with two people, let alone three. Especially three with the history they had, tangled with conflicting timelines and overlapping memories. Impossible on the face of things.

"Impossible" didn't exist in the worlds they knew. And given the proven power of emotional bonds--strong enough to drag Peter back from nonexistence, according to Walter--Olivia chose to believe the three of them could make it work.

What she felt for Peter was almost overwhelming, between her returned memories and everything they'd been through since. Lincoln anchored them both, reminding them which world and time they were living in. 

What she felt for Lincoln was far more grounded, rooted in similarities. Peter positioned himself a necessary instigator, preventing her and Lincoln from falling into too-familiar patterns. Like a grain of sand in an oyster's shell that irritates into a pearl, Olivia thought, and smiled.

What they felt was evident in the way they looked at her and at each other, and Olivia couldn't have been happier to bear witness. 

Lincoln stepped out of the water and Olivia saw with considerable amusement that sometime between when he'd gone in and now, he'd lost his swim shorts. Peter followed him in the same state, never having put his on in the first place.

They made their way over to her, tracking footprints into the sand. "Peter stole my swimsuit," Lincoln complained. "It's floating out to sea somewhere."

Olivia smiled up at him, shading her eyes against the sun with one hand. "I'm sure you put up a terrible fight."

"Tried, but he never had a chance," Peter affirmed. "I cheat." He kneeled down and leaned over her, blocking the sun and dripping onto her chest.

"You're getting me wet," she protested for formality's sake, but the water drops felt good against her hot skin.

"Yeah?" Peter's expression remained analytically interested as he slipped his hand inside her bikini bottom. Olivia's hips bucked up involuntarily as his finger brushed over her clit but he didn't stop, sliding his finger between her labia and resting it at the opening of her vagina. "Not bad, but we can do better."

She glanced around, ready to protest, but virtual seclusion was the reason Peter chose this beach to begin with. During off season, the place was nearly deserted. And the next bungalow was a half-mile down the beach.

Olivia tilted her head back as Lincoln dropped down on her other side. She felt his hand caress the inside of her thigh and let her legs fall open.

"What I like about this bathing suit," Peter said, still in a conversational voice, "is how it gets darker as it gets wetter." He pulled his hand out and offered it to Lincoln. Lincoln leaned in and licked Peter's fingers, his eyes never leaving Olivia's face.

"I think," Olivia said, trying to match his even tone, "that constitutes more cheating of some kind, Mr. Bishop."

"Nah. _This_ is cheating." His hands went to either side of her hips and pulled, stripping off her bikini bottoms with a single smooth motion.

"My turn," Lincoln said, low, and positioned himself between her legs, heedless of the sand. Between them they seemed to have decided that one or both of them would get a tongue on her every time they made love. Olivia wasn't consulted on the resolution but she had no intention of voicing a complaint. 

Peter's mouth drifted over her stomach, making the muscles there flutter, mirroring the motion of Lincoln's tongue lower down. Her bikini top fell away with a twist of Peter's fingers and he slid smoothly upward, stopping briefly to taste her nipples before claiming a kiss.

Olivia surged up, feeling the orgasm crash over her, crying out her joy into Peter's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google tells me that the sand-in-an-oyster-causing-a-pearl theory is untrue, but maybe Olivia missed the memo.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [DVD Commentary: Lift You Up Over Everything](https://archiveofourown.org/works/325154) by [kerithwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn), [Mona (monanotlisa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/Mona), [samjohnsson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samjohnsson/pseuds/samjohnsson)
  * [Feel You In My Veins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/417867) by [elfin (crazylittleelf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/elfin)
  * [[Podfic] Lift You Up Over Everything](https://archiveofourown.org/works/627886) by [opusculasedfera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opusculasedfera/pseuds/opusculasedfera)




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